


Massacre Anne

by LiteralCaskOfAmontillado



Series: Eiriceacht [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: But she's been listening to too much of her mother's music, Gen, Heresy is trying her best, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25295365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteralCaskOfAmontillado/pseuds/LiteralCaskOfAmontillado
Summary: And there's no more forgiving 'tween the deadly and the living, and my sword is a will of his own. Well I'm Massacre Anne, and I do what I can to bring the master back living and wholeSeveral years after the death of her best friend, Ava Morningstar, Heresy sets her sights on tying up a loose end.
Series: Eiriceacht [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832512
Kudos: 5





	1. A Secret in the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vex and Heresy exchange words. There's tea and Danger Boots.

Four knocks. Strong knocks. Four strong knocks on her front door almost made Heresy Silvertongue jump out of her skin, but instead it sent a pile of joggers in her hands careening onto the floor. She navigated carefully towards her bedroom window that overlooked the front door, only to see the top of her friend’s head from above.

Below on the porch was her friend and longtime co-worker, Vex Spectre. The woman was tiny up close, rendered almost unrecognisable from the second floor window. Vex, who had always had a keen eye for somebody staring at her, looked upwards and waved knowingly. 

Heresy tapped thrice on the window, and pointed somewhere behind her, to which Vex nodded. She made her way out of her bedroom, and down the stairs, arriving so quietly at the door that Vex jumped a bit when Heresy opened it.

“Hello there, I wasn’t expecting to see you before I left,” she admitted as she gestured for Vex to come inside, “but I appreciate it nonetheless. Would you like some tea?”

“No, I’m alright,” Vex politely waved off the suggestion at first, but hesitated before saying, “actually, I think I’ll take you up on that today”

“I thought I’d never hear you say yes,” Heresy said with a broad but uneasy smile. 

Her worst fear was a surprise visit like this from any of her Service mates. She had been expecting Lucien or Amoral, but [I]Vex[/I]? It was enough to make her reconsider everything about her desert journey that she’d planned out. 

“Do you need any help packing?” Vex asked quietly, to which Heresy shook her head.

“Not much, just a few more shirts and whatnot,” Heresy sighed, walking off towards her kitchen.

Vex had always felt a sort of comfort in Heresy’s little condo. Sure, it had technically been shared by all of the Silvertongues at some point, but since the Trochee brother’s had taken over their mother’s pirate ship, the home had become Heresy’s. All of her photos hung on the walls, all of her shoes were waiting at the door, and her coats hung by the doorway.

“What do you think this is going to achieve?” Vex asked abruptly, after sitting at the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry?” Heresy replied with her eyebrows raised, a decently warm tea kettle in hand.

“Going after Castor like this. Being undercover like you want to do and bringing him back,” Vex breathed out shakily, “what do you think it’s going to achieve?”

Heresy looked around- anywhere but at Vex- and wrung her hands on the handle of her kettle. For once in her life, she didn’t have the confidence to explain herself.

“Raspberry tea, right? No cream, but a little bit of sugar,” Heresy recited the tea order, while Vex sighed unhappily.

“You’re avoiding my question. I didn’t ask if you remembered my tea order. I asked what you think going out and pretending to be someone you’re not in the middle of a desert is going to achieve!” Vex huffed while she anxiously tapped her feet, “I don’t like this, Heresy”

“I hope you’ll at least like this tea I made, then,” Heresy replied with a bit of a snap, which only made Vex frown. 

The mug in her hands looked so inviting, and Vex stood quickly, bumping the table harshly and snatching it out of her hands. She hadn’t meant to be so forward, but a cloud of fear loomed over her head, bringing with it a sense of urgent dread.

“Thank you for coming by,” Heresy said a few minutes later. She hadn’t moved to be closer to Vex, just stayed where she was, leaning on the kitchen and doing her best to avoid Vex’s expectant stare.

“Of course. I just wanted to make sure I got a better goodbye than that stupid note you left me at work,” Vex scoffed, “I’ll take tea and watching you pack any day over that”  
“You came to watch me pack?” Heresy asked with a chuckle, and Vex rolled her eyes.

“Of course, who’s going to make you sure you remember your toiletries? And your weird hair eczema cream? And your special shampoo for your curls? Oh, and your Danger Boots,” Vex sipped between each article she needed to remind Heresy to bring, “They’re vital, y’know?”

“Well I could never forget the Danger Boots,” Heresy grumbled over the lip of her mug. She didn’t have the heart to tell Vex that the sturdy Doc Martens with a concealed knife in the toebox were already waiting at the door. 

“Exactly, it’s why I had to come over,” Vex nodded in agreement, raising her mug in a shaky toast. 

If Heresy noticed the shift in her friend’s energy, which she did, because that was the entire point of her magic, she simply chose not to mention it.

And so, with mounting dread, Vex Spectre watched carefully from her seat on Heresy’s bed while her friend packed the duffle bag with precise placement. She knew deep down she couldn’t convince the hard-headed Irish woman to change her plans, but she’d come over anyways to try.

“You don’t need to quit the House to get Castor. You know that, right?” Spectre finally said, wringing her hands, “they have resources. They could help, and you could do this legally. Vigilantism never works, Heresy. Just take your leads to Lucien! He can get the ball rolling for you this way instead”

Heresy shoved the stack of shirts into her bag forcefully, and sighed. She loved Vex Spectre immensely, but Heresy knew that there was no way to convince the fellow that there truly wasn’t an “official” way to go about her plans.

“I tried taking it to Lucien already, Vex. The other chancellors bullied the shit out of him for even giving me the time of day. They’d never sanction what I’m about to do. It violates their stupid mantra about leaving immortals, especially the foundational families, to their business. And besides, I already have something to fall back on when I get back. They’re not going to want me anyways after what I’m about to go do,” Spectre simply huffed in response, and looked away as Heresy continued to speak, “they’ve been gunning for me ever since my brother first went to prison, and now they finally get to have their moment of vindication”

“I hate this,” Spectre sighed, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, “first I lose Ava, and now I’m going to lose you too. This is horseshit”

Heresy set down her next stack of clothes- scarves, as it were- and kneeled in front of her friend. Vex would only look about the room, trying to keep her chin up so Heresy wouldn’t see her tears.

“Vex don’t play like that,” Heresy sighed, gripping her friend’s knee firmly but reassuringly.

When Vex still refused to look down at her, Heresy leaned back on her haunches and delicately took Vex’s chin in her hand.

“You’re not losing me like we lost Ava. I promise. I’ll be back, but I need you to believe me when I say that I know what I’m doing, and that it’s the only shot I have,” she pleaded, and Vex stared down at her with teary eyes.

Heresy held her friend’s hands, giving them a comfortably tight squeeze. Vex hiccuped around a sob, holding onto Heresy’s hands for dear life. The kineticist could have easily snapped Vex’s hands in two, but her firm grip was brought on for no reason other than to comfort the upset woman.

“Besides, you can come to work [I]for me[/I] when I get back,” Heresy smiled as she tried her best to joke with her friend.

Vex laughed sadly, holding on to Heresy’s hands as tightly as she could. Heresy could only imagine how hard this separation was for the other woman. 

“I just feel left behind, and I hate it,” she admitted tearfully, “it feels like when my mom left me to be adopted. I hate that feeling more than anything else. I hate [I]being[/I] alone and I hate [I]feeling[/I] like I’m alone, too”

Vex’s words stung. The words stung even more than Heresy’s own teeth did as she sunk them into her lips. Many many years ago, Vex had sobbed about how hurt she’d been by her mother’s abandonment when she was just 12 years old. It had been entirely unprompted, brought on by Heresy’s suggestion that her partner spend Christmas with the extended Silvertongue family. Although it had been some 300 years since, and Vex’s adopted family was her lifeline, that sort of trauma didn’t fade easily. For someone so petite, Vex had a massive heart, full of more love and care for her friends than they would ever know.

“You’re not alone. You are never alone, Vex, I promise,” Heresy pleaded, “I promise with all I’m worth that I’ll be back for you”

Vex looked away and was quiet for a few moments. The only way Heresy knew she was just thinking about what else to say was by the tiny grip and ungrip of her hands.

“I know some very good necromancers in the House. If something happens to you, dying won’t be the end of our adventures,” she scolded with a fearsome pout.

“I believe you,” Heresy grinned, squeezing Vex’s tiny hands so quickly that the tinier woman squeaked like a little church mouse.

Vex slid herself onto the floor beside Heresy, who promptly pulled her in for a hug. She held on tightly, operating on the assumption that if she didn’t, Heresy would disappear before her very eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is just me attempting to bring context where it hasn't been before. I wrote the majority of this while in the ER last Thursday night, along with the beginning of the next chapter. Massacre Anne had turned out to be a far more foundational part of Heresy/The Foggy Dew's story than I initially thought it would be. Strap in and thank you again for hanging in there ❤️
> 
> 06/12/2020


	2. A Secret In the Desert (Reprise)

Heresy Silvertongue, back when she was a detective, had been known for having a certain way about how to carry a conversation. A certain way that made the lips of suspects more loose than usual. She would never be as good as her mother with speech magic, but Heresy knew what words to say, and when to say them. She’d never tried this mutism thing before, though. Talk less, and smile more.

And for the weeks that she’d spent in the Master’s caravan, it had worked out quite well. Her fellow travellers knew that she was stronger than even the largest man in their group, and right off the bat, the Master kept her and her sword close by at all times. That should have tipped her off, but she had learned in her 400 years that one shouldn’t ever look a gift horse in the mouth.  
Except that evening, it had all gone to shit. The ex-detective and current mercenary had been forced by the vile necromancer to take her scarves off after the meeting of his council had disbursed for the evening. The layers she’d used to conceal her identity were useless, despite being magically armoured. Of course, it was less humiliating when the imposing bald man had revealed that he knew her identity this whole time. But only slightly less.

“Dear Heresy, there’s so few people on this Earth with your sort of magic, do you really think I wouldn’t have found out?” the Master had his hand on the side of her head, playing with the curls that had been hidden these weeks out in the desert.

Heresy knew better, knew that this wasn’t a fond caress. She could feel his cold rings on her ear, making the side of her face tingle. If she pulled away now, he would grab the curls beneath his fingers, and although she could take him in a fight, she wouldn’t be able to take all of his loyal subjects alone. He sneered with a knowing glint in his eyes and Heresy had to fight not to scowl back at him.

“How long have you known?” she asked, eyes squinting, searching for an answer in the wrinkles of his face. He knew she was an Irish national, but hearing another Irish accent for the first time in many years threw him off.

“Since the day you got here,” the Master laughed at her pitiful attempt at backtalk, “there [I]is[/I] only eight of you now”

A heavy silence hung in the tent, and the Master let his hand drag down Heresy’s cheek, the cold rings making her flinch at their touch.

“Eight Kineticists in the world, yes? Two of them- the other two women- have been missing for some three hundred and seventy or so years, and another is imprisoned at Steam Creek. Although, he isn’t a real Kineticist, is he? So I suppose there’s only 7 of you, then,” there was that sneer again, and Heresy hated it.

The Master knew about her connection to Samhain and Beltane, and about her brother. The latter, however, didn’t surprise her. Everyone knew about the Wanted Man. That was the whole point of his moniker.

Her teachers were another story. Beltane had disappeared when she was still a teenager, and Samhain some nine or so years after that. Heresy knew where Bel was, but not Sam. Never Sam. Very few outside her family knew of her connection to the Sabbat Sisters, and Heresy drew a quick poker face. Their story wasn’t hers to tell.

“My point is that you weren’t so sly, Silvertongue. I thought you would have blown your cover sooner, but you proved me wrong. I admire that,” Heresy hadn’t expected the offhanded compliment, but she stood there defiantly, the sweat that beaded on her face and neck from the direct exposure to the hot desert air and nothing more, as the Master continued to speak, “except. I don’t know _why_ you’re here. I haven’t been able to figure that out yet”

His knife was there, pressing her chin upward faster than she liked. The hooked blade was colder than dry ice, and she knew he could do more than just slit her throat with it. If he really wanted to be cruel, he could rip her soul from her body and torment it while her still functioning brain let her eyes watch the horrors.

“So tell me, Heresy Silvertongue,” he spat, “what business do you have in _my_ caravan?”

Never more did Heresy want to swallow so badly. The necromancer’s blade on her throat didn’t scare her in the slightest. If this was how she would die, so be it. There were many people she needed to finish things with, but the ones who mattered knew how to get in touch with her anyways, regardless of her state of living or not.

“I’m searching for Castor Morningstar,” the Master laughed as she spoke, and Heresy glowered, “I want to take him back to Ireland with me for the crimes he committed there”

“You’re such a good big sister, and perhaps an even better friend,” the Master’s laughter ended with a sneer, and he made a point to press the tip of his knife just a little further against Heresy’s throat.

“You have my permission then, my Blade,” the Master gently seized her chin again, and he lowered his knife, “don’t give me a reason to revoke it”

The Master kissed her on both cheeks, much in the way that two associates would after many years of not meeting in person, the same way he kissed the members of his council. She hated it. His thin pale lips stung her cheek like needles.

“And one more thing?” Heresy straightened, just as he grabbed her by a fist full of hair.

“If I found out you’ve lied to me, I’ll make sure Castor knows you’re coming for him,” the Master’s voice was low, “and we both know what Mr Morningstar is capable of. Don’t we?”

Heresy locked eyes with the elderly looking man, lips curled in a scowl, teeth illuminated in the candle light of his tent. But she nodded. Castor Morningstar had envied the relationship between her best friend- his younger sister- so much that he’d sent Heresy’s own younger brother to kill her.

“Believe me, I don’t quite trust you either, but my priority is Morningstar,” Heresy felt his hand loosen in her curls, “Tá mo fhocal agam”

The Master seemed to understand the Irish she spoke, and satisfied that he had the answers he wanted, let go of her hair. He turned away, a flourish of elegant satin and clinking magic charms. Heresy stood where he’d apprehended her, hand resting on the pommel of her sword, a slight tick to her lips.

“Share a drink with me, Ms Silvertongue?” asked the Master, as he picked up the crystal bottle of cognac he’d nursed all night, but Heresy shook her head.  
“I have permission to do my job, which makes sneaking around a whole hell of a lot easier. So that’s what I plan to do,” she picked up the scarves that she’d dropped earlier, and began to wind them around her wild hair and face.

The Master shook his head, but a smile occupied his wrinkled face. He gingerly sipped from the small glass in his hands, carefully eyeing the detective-turned-mercenary before him. He’d met her father once at a gathering for like-magicked individuals. He’d neglected to mention that he had recognised the sword she brandished, as he wasn’t interested in the explanation for why it was in her hands. Family drama was one thing, the drama of a Legacy family was quite another. His interest lied in why Heresy- who very clearly was _not_ a necromancer- effortlessly wielded a necromancer’s blade. That was a question he would weasel out of her another night.

“So Morningstar dies tonight, and I simply have to accept that, do I?” the Master asked, raising his eyebrow.

“He won’t die tonight,” Heresy responded, carefully tucking her hair under a slip of scarf, “and you don’t have to accept it, but I won’t let _you_ stop me from taking him”  
Perhaps he didn’t hear the way she stressed her words, but he nodded in understanding.

“I like your tenacity. I liked that about your father, you know,” and Heresy stilled herself mid-adjustment, “always so determined to get the job done, and do the right thing. He was a shitty necromancer because of it, but a very good detective”

“I’m sure he would have appreciated your compliment,” Heresy replied cautiously, “for what it’s worth, he wasn’t that good of a detective either”

He silently watched as she worked her hair into the dark blue scarves, hiding her pale skin. It was an added protection against the harsh desert sun, but also from prying eyes. The disguise was very clever, even if her magic had never given her away, but he would never praise her for it.

“You know, Morningstar has probably made the same conclusions I did. His sister _was_ your best friend and partner,” the Master reminded her, “he could very well already know who you are, and anticipated that you’ve been gunning for him this entire time”

Heresy grinned with a certain sort of satisfaction that a cat with a canary in it’s mouth would have. The proud glint in her eyes made the Master just slightly wary of the imposing huntress in front of him.

“Oh, I see,” the Master drank, shaking his head when he set his glass down, “that was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

She didn’t respond, just nodded silently. She brought her scarf over her mouth and nose, Heresy then slid on the black visor that obscured her eyes. The persona that she had built for herself the last few weeks was alive and well, and could continue her hunt. This time, she was actually sanctioned to do so.

“ _Oiche mhaith_ ” Heresy signed to him, and the Master glared back at her.

She bowed to him, a sarcastic, mocking motion that caused a spike of anger to shoot through the wicked lord of necromancy. He understood the action though- and he thought _himself_ the clever one. Heresy stood, hand on her sword, pushed the tent flaps aside and stepped out into the cool desert night.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr is literal-cask-of-amontillado.tumblr.com. I know my works are confusing right now, but I swear in due time it's all going to come together. (15/7/2020)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
